Page 71 of A Secret Consequence for the Viscount
‘Are you shocked I was so shameless?’ Her teeth sat on the fullness of her bottom lip.
‘No. I thank the lord that you were.’ Frowning he sought for another recall. ‘Ellie? I called you that, didn’t I?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you were a virgin.’ He sobered. ‘And it was my fault. If you had never been at the Vauxhall Gardens you may have been spared.’
‘Spared?’
‘Of all that came next. It was my arrogance that led to the incident in the alley behind Vitium et Virtus. If you had not met me...’
He stopped because he could not quite say it.
You were the Duke of Westmoor’s only daughter with all the possibilities in life that such a position implied. And I took that away.
He saw her swallow and find her answer. ‘If I had not met you then we would not have Lucy?’
‘I want you, Eleanor. I promised myself that I would go slowly and let you choose the time and the place. I told myself that I could wait and court you, do it properly this time, with good food and the finest wine and music. But I can’t. I swear I can’t.’
Her hands came up to both sides of his face and she brought him in. ‘Then that is a good thing, for I do not wish any more to love a ghost.’
Love? The word vibrated on the end of his tongue, in question and in relief, but the heat that lay between them was building, a desperateness that held no mind of circumstance or propriety.
He wanted to claim her as his own, keep her here in his bed so that she might never leave him. He wanted to know every part of her as well as he knew his own body.
His mouth came down across hers in a single movement, her lips opening to his own, so that he could come inside and taste. Her sweetness and her fear.
‘I will not hurt you, Eleanor.’ He whispered this against the alabaster of her cheek.
‘I know.’
He should be careful, he should be gentle and tender, but he could be none of those things. He kissed her as though she had always been his. His. To keep and to hold.
His hands were on the long row of tiny buttons now at the back of her gown, fumbling, shaking. He could not recall a time he’d been so desperate or so clumsy.
And then the fabric gaped, exposing the lawn below and the skin beneath. Her breasts were round and pink tipped, the stuff of dreams and hope.
‘My God,’ he said quietly, as she simply stood there naked to the waist, watching him. ‘You are so very lovely.’ One finger trailed along the fullness to the nipple and he quickened the movement to run back and forward so that it tightened into hardness. She stretched, taken unawares, and his mouth fell to the corded elegance of her throat.
She was breathing hard now, the sound of it loud in the room, as she melted into acquiescence, shivers chasing each other across her skin. Undoing the gown further, he was pleased when the yellow wool pooled at her feet and the lawn of her petticoat covered only the thin lace of her drawers.
The chill of the room came across her bareness, her skin alight with the flame of the fire and the heat inside.
He was careful as he dealt with the last of her clothes and then she was naked before him, save for the silk stockings with the garters pulled up by pink ribbons and the soft silver slippers on her feet.
‘Eleanor.’ He moaned this, the breath of him reaching across the small distance between them and he knew only pain as he bent to lift her into his arms, close against his chest, because if he hurt her again he would never forgive himself.
